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Friday, 27 February 2015

I'm thrilled to welcome bestselling author Felicity Heaton today! As a special treat for you, she is offering a copy of Kissed by a Dark Prince to one lucky reader who comments here.

****

Bitten by a
Hellcat, the sixth book in New York Times
best-seller Felicity Heaton’s hot paranormal romance series, Eternal Mates, is
now available in ebook and paperback. To celebrate the release, she’s holding a
FANTASTIC GIVEAWAY at her website and sharing sneak peeks of the book. This
book works as a standalone, so it’s perfect for those new to the series too.

Here’s more
about Bitten by a Hellcat, including an excerpt from this paranormal romance book.

Bitten by a Hellcat (Eternal Mates Romance
Series Book 6)Felicity Heaton
The sole remaining member of the most famous shifter hunter family in history,
Owen Nightingale is a mercenary and a man with a secret held in his closely
guarded heart, but when a beautiful rare shifter catches his eye and offers him
a job, he has the feeling he’ll be the one paying for helping her—with his
heart.

Cait is in a spot of trouble with a capital
T. A male hellcat has set his sights on claiming her and she’s one kitty who
doesn’t want a collar. When she meets a dark, alluring and mysterious hunter,
she sees a chance to rid herself of the male, but the price Owen sets and the
fierce passion that burns white-hot between them lures her dangerously under
his seductive spell.

Can Owen discover the true intent of the
male hellcat and stop Cait from falling into his hands? And can Cait retain
control as the heat of desire burns between her and Owen, or will a reckless
moment seal both of their fates forever?

Owen closed the
door, rounded the compact car and slid into the driver’s seat. He twisted at
the waist and put his bag on the back seat, and then put the key into the ignition
and started the car. The engine growled to life and he flicked the switch for
the lights, checked the road and pulled out. He tugged his seatbelt on as he
drove and glanced across at Cait.

“Buckle up.” He
waited to see she was doing as instructed, tugging the slim black belt across
her chest, before returning his focus to the road.

It was quiet, the
night drawing on, making it easy going as he navigated the short journey deep
into an affluent neighbourhood near the centre of London.

Cait’s eyes grew
wider by the moment as she stared out of the windows, taking in the buildings.
When he drove through large black wrought iron gates, her eyes shot impossibly
wide and she looked across at him. He kept his eyes on the road, unwilling to
field her silent question, slowing the car as he drove through the rows of
beautiful pale townhouses.

He turned left
down another side road where the biggest houses were located and pulled the car
into a reserved parking spot outside his one. Cait was still staring at him. He
turned the engine off, undid his seatbelt, gathered his bag, and stepped out of
the car.

She followed him a
moment later, her eyebrows pinned high on her forehead as she finally looked
away from him, her gaze settling on the huge four storey Georgian townhouse
behind him.

“What you
pictured?” he said before locking the car and turning his back on her. He
strode towards the short black iron gate, opened it and glanced over his
shoulder at her.

She hurried
towards him, her eyes flitting between him and the house.

It was too big for
him.

He used the sum
total of five rooms out of the possible fourteen.

“This is yours?”
She spoke at last, her gaze on the white townhouse, slowly drifting up the
height of it.

Owen walked up the
path, took the steps up to the covered porch with its Grecian columns, and
unlocked the wide black wooden door. He pushed it open, proving it was his.

“It belongs to my
family,” he said as way of an explanation when she looked at him again. “It
costs a small fortune to run, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to part
with it.”

“You grew up
here.” It wasn’t a question. She looked him right in the eye as she said it,
her expression sober, and he nodded.

It wasn’t often he
met someone who could see straight through him as Cait could. Most people
didn’t seem to understand him at all.

The humans he met
who weren’t hunters, and therefore were unaware of the world of fae and demons
that co-existed with theirs, weren’t worth his time. He had nothing he could
talk about with them, not as normal people did. He couldn’t gripe about his
work week over a beer with a buddy. The hunters avoided him because he wasn’t
aligned with any of the organisations they worked for and only exchanged
information when it suited them.

The fae and demons
preferred to keep him at arm’s length because of his profession.

The only people he
could really talk to and who had ever understood him were his family, and those
who had been closest to him were dead now. He had a handful of relatives
remaining, mostly from his mother’s side, and he rarely saw them.

“You live here
alone.” Cait’s soft voice drew him out of his thoughts and he sighed as he
looked at her where she now stood on the porch beside him, close enough that he
could smell her sweet perfume on the night breeze.

He nodded again.
“I keep most of the rooms closed and use just the ones I need… bathroom,
bedroom… living room… kitchen. I did make one of the other reception rooms into
a gym and training room.”

She looked as if
she was on the verge of saying it sounded lonely, so he turned his back on her,
stepped into the hall and switched on the lights. Thankfully, she took the hint
and remained silent as she entered behind him and closed the door.

Owen locked it and
pocketed his keys. “Come on. I’ll get you settled in the living room.”

He led the way up
the wooden staircase to the first floor and the large pale blue room he used
for his living room. He grimaced as he realised he had left it in a worse state
than he had thought.

Cait drifted past
him before he could say anything in warning, a twinkle in her eyes as they
danced over all of the weapons spread across the large oak table on the left
side of the room, and all the knickknacks he had left strewn across the square
wooden coffee table nestled in the U of his three black leather couches in
front of the fireplace.

She ambled around
the room and he watched her as she allowed her fingers to drift over a few
items on the coffee table and checked out some of his weapons.

“It looks very
much as I had expected in here.” She lifted her eyes away from the crossbow she
held and smiled across the room at him. “I imagined weapons and books.”

She looked around
at the stacked bookcases that lined the wall to his right between the tall sash
windows and the one behind him, and then down at the sheets of paper, notepads,
and newspapers stacked haphazardly on a smaller coffee table beside an
armchair.

“Although… it has
an air of bachelor about it too.” Her smile teased him and he shrugged.

She hadn’t seen
his bedroom.

If she thought
this room looked like a bachelor owned it, she was in for a shock if she set
eyes on his inner sanctum.

Her blue eyes
drifted over the couches and then roamed back to him, gaining a dark edge of
desire that set his pulse pounding and left him feeling she might just want to
see that inner sanctum.

He was damned if
she was going to see it as it was though.

He wasn’t sure how
hellcats lived, or what accommodation they were used to, but he was fairly
certain that as a woman she wasn’t impressed by clothes strewn across the
floor, unmade beds, and several empty take out cartons, and that was exactly
what his bedroom contained.

“You seem to
favour magic.” Cait set the crossbow down and Owen stared at her, his heart
pounding for a different reason as he took in what she had said. When she
frowned and gestured to all the knickknacks covering the coffee table, his gaze
leaped there and his heart settled. “The items… they’re magic aren’t they?”

Owen quickly
nodded. “I get them in the fae town nearby. Some I use, others are just part of
a collection.”

He backed towards
the door.

“You like magic?”
She looked at him again.

Owen took another
step backwards and gave a noncommittal shrug in answer.

“I have to get
changed and get some stuff together. Make yourself comfortable.”

He turned and
walked out of the room, feeling her gaze boring into his back, intense and
focused, as if she was trying to strip away the layers of his defences to
uncover a truth he preferred to keep hidden.

A secret he’d had
for most of his life and had kept from his father.

A secret only one
living person in this world knew.

Bitten by a
Hellcat is available from Amazon Kindle, Kobo Books, Barnes and Noble Nook,
Apple iBooks stores and other retailers. Also available in paperback.

Felicity Heaton is a New York Times and USA Today
international best-selling author writing passionate paranormal romance books.
In her books, she creates detailed worlds, twisting plots, mind-blowing action,
intense emotion and heart-stopping romances with leading men that vary from
dark deadly vampires to sexy shape-shifters and wicked werewolves, to sinful
angels and hot demons! If you're a fan of paranormal romance authors Lara
Adrian, J R Ward, Sherrilyn Kenyon, Gena Showalter and Christine Feehan then
you will enjoy her books too.

If you love your angels a little dark and
wicked, the best-selling Her Angel series is for you. If you like strong,
powerful, and dark vampires then try the Vampires Realm series or any of her
stand-alone vampire romance books. If you’re looking for vampire romances that
are sinful, passionate and erotic then try the best-selling Vampire Erotic
Theatre series. Or if you prefer huge detailed worlds filled with hot-blooded
alpha males in every species, from elves to demons to dragons to shifters and
angels, then take a look at the new Eternal Mates series.

If you want to know more about Felicity,
or want to get in touch, you can find her at the following places:

Wednesday, 25 February 2015

Oh, how I adore helping an author celebrate her first release! After all, it wasn't long ago I was in the same position. And today I get to applaud the lovely Marianne Rice, whose debut romance False Start, released with Liquid Silver Books this week.

Welcome, Marianne!

Thank you, Rosanna, for giving me this opportunity to introduce
myself. I’m a pretty normal person. I don’t have weird quirks or obsessions. I
call myself...well-rounded. I have a full-time job, three active kids, a busy
husband, amazing friends, a writing career, a cake decorating
hobby-sometimes-business, an over-flowing library of books, and love, love,
love to hostess any and all events, parties, holidays, get-togethers...you name
it. I take on a lot, but I like to stay busy. Addicted? No. Busy? Yes.

To me, an addiction is one thing you simply can't live without.
I don't...oh, wait. Well, chocolate doesn't count, right? It's not like I HAVE
to have it, but it is nice to have a delectable morsel (chunk) after a meal.
And if there isn't any chocolate in the house (like I would ever allow that to
happen) I have been known to break out the flour and sugar and lemon and whip
up some other satisfying dessert. (Lemon squares anyone? Butterscotch oatmeal
cookies will suffice too). So, see? I'm not a chocolate addict.

And reading. No, I'm not addicted. Just because I hide my
paperback, Kindle, iPad or iPhone (yeah, I read on that, too) when my husband
comes in the house and pretend like I'm straightening the couch cushions
doesn't mean I have a reading problem. Reading over 150 books last year means
I'm well read, not addicted.

Facebook? No, I can totally go a day or two without creeping, I
mean reading posts and posting pictures. Instead I'll cruise through Twitter or
TSU, search for hotties on Pinterest, or Google my favorite authors and read
their blogs. Nope. No technology addictions either.

And don’t event think about classifying my shoe collection as an
addiction. Just because I have over thirty pairs of shoes in varying color,
heel height and style for each season and occasion (yeah, if you do the math
that may add up to a bit), just because when building our home fifteen years
ago we designed my—I mean our—walk-in
closet around my shoes doesn’t mean it’s a problem. I mean, seriously. Don’t
most stores have a sign in their window that says, “No shoes. No shirt. No
service”? Which means I need to have an array of clothing as well. See?
Perfectly normal.

So I guess it depends on your definition of addiction. The word
is so harsh. It's not like I'd go bat a$$ crazy if I was stranded on a deserted
island and didn't have shoes. Barefoot in the sand is bliss. And no chocolate
or sweets, or books to read, or social media? Nope. I'd be perfectly...oh son
of a nutcracker!

I guess everyone has their issues, especially the characters in
my debut novel, False Start.

Here’s a snippet of page one:

“We need to talk.”

Startled by the deep growl, Meg Fulton looked
up to the towering stack of testosterone filling her office doorway and cursed
the butterflies that fluttered in her stomach.

She straightened her posture, ran her hand
through her thick hair in an attempt to put all the strays back in place, and
then reached for the lapels of the suit coat that wasn’t there. She felt
vulnerable in her silk tank top and wished she had an extra layer to shield her
from the menacing daggers targeted at her. Putting on the jacket would only
make a spectacle of herself. The thin tank would have to do.

“Sure. Have a seat.” She crossed her legs and
attempted to smile. Inwardly, Meg groaned. Connor McKay. She’d noticed
him on the football field coaching his athletes and had not looked forward to
the expected confrontation.

He
remained in the doorway, making no move toward the empty seats across from her
desk. His blond hair was short, barely longer than the scruff on his face, and
as she looked up she saw his eyes—a fierce, fiery blue filled with accusation
and something that ranged between confusion and lust.

Friday, 20 February 2015

I suppose it was inevitable. The music world has invaded my literary world.

What do I mean? Well, some of you may know I used to be a classical singer. For a good chunk of my life, I studied music. Indeed, there were days when I felt Mozart, Bach and Beethoven were my closest confidantes. I sang professionally for a couple of years, singing soprano for a well-known Toronto chamber ensemble. It was an exhilarating experience...but not for me in the end.

Sadly, it took me a few years to realize I didn't want to be a singer. I do miss the music, being able to create beautiful sounds in an ensemble, but I don't miss the environment. After writing in secret for many years, I came to the conclusion writing was a passion I could no longer deny.

I knew I'd use my musical experiences in my books at some point. Music was simply too much a part of my life for me to dismiss it outright. However, for the most part, those experiences remained tucked away in my brain.

All of a sudden, they have burst onto the scene again. It occurs to me three, not one but three, of my heroines can now say music is a part of their lives. Heroine Winn from The Stand-In is a Broadway-style actor who loves musicals. Well, at the start of the book anyway.

In addition to Winn, I have two artsy heroines who will feature in books that are soon to be released.

Firstly, there is Kate Callender, the heroine of my upcoming contemporary with Samhain Publishing, Vice. Kate is actually a radio jingle singer but her passion is torch songs.

And then I have Renata Bruno, the heroine of Night Lover. This paranormal has recently been submitted to a publisher and I eagerly await the response. Renata is most like me in that she is a classical soprano with a chamber ensemble.

Did I intend to write so many artistic heroines? No. Did it feel right to pen them this way? Golly, yes. Being able to draw upon my experiences in the singing world really allowed me to get to the hearts of these characters. I felt their dreams, understood their disappointments and craved their successes. I lived these women.

That being said, I did work hard not to make them carbon copies of each other. Winn, Kate and Renata are definitely different in many ways and so are their stories. Their heroes are unique, their conflicts even more so.

They say "write what you know." For a long time, I resisted allowing the world of music into my literary works. However, it seems those memories have a life of their own and they needed telling. And if I've learned anything as an author, it's that one must listen carefully to one's Muse.

Thursday, 19 February 2015

I'm so pleased to welcome a fellow Liquid Silver Books author today, Belle Maurice. Liquid Silver has a hot series entitled Afternoon Delights and Belle's Sacked By the Quarterback is one of the featured stories.

She's here with a blog about bullying and an interesting moment she experienced in South Korea.
Welcome, Belle!

*****

Once upon a time in South Korea, I taught
kindergarten. My co-teacher came to me one day and said, “I got a call from
Victoria’s mother last night.” Victoria had a tendency to chew her words. Don’t
get me wrong, six months of English immersion kindergarten with me and my
peerless co-teacher Helen, Victoria could speak English on par with an American
five year old.

An American five year old who doesn’t speak
too clearly.

So I’m standing in my classroom with the
kids and Helen. The kids are at their tables on the far side of the room and
we’re by our desks with a little bit of privacy, but the kids do speak English
when Helen says, “Victoria said Chelsea is calling her Big Tongue Toria.”

Name calling is not nice. Bullying is bad.

But seriously, the kid made a joke in a
second language and it was GOOD.

I snorted before I could press my lips
together to keep the rest of my gales of laughter in. Then I got it together
because I had to take Chelsea in the hall and explain to her that we don’t call
people names. Though I really wished I could have congratulated her on her
cleverness, she was using it for evil.

In new release, Sacked By the Quarterback,
Sonny Black commits an act of bullying that dogs him through his career until
he finds the woman he betrayed and makes it up to her. Chelsea made it up to
Victoria because I assigned them to sit together and they had no choice but to
learn to cooperate. I just hope Chelsea held onto that great sense of humor and
that she never used to for evil again.

Blurb: Sonny Black was the star quarterback in high school who couldn't possibly be in love with the geekiest girl in school, Mandy Daws. He'd been seeing her under the guise of chemistry tutoring, but when his buddies found out there was a little more going on, he lied and said she was a slut, wrecking her life and earning her enduring hatred. Eleven years later, Sonny is the star quarterback headed for the Super Bowl despite amazing bad luck that has earned him the nickname Sonny Black Cloud. When someone mentions that the bad luck must stem from someone he failed in the past, the first name that comes to mind is Mandy's. He tracks her down at the small university where she teaches chemistry and tries to seduce, beg, or win her forgiveness, and he needs it before the Super Bowl. Excerpt:

“First of all, I have every right to still be pissed at you. Second, me accepting your apology will not change the stupid things that happen to you on the field.”

“How can you be sure? I have great defenders and I still have the highest sack rate of any quarterback in the NFL. My passes get dropped more frequently. Every time something goes wrong the media resurrects that fumble at the snap from last season.”

“The one where the ball bounced off your fingers three times before you dropped it and all the other players just stared at you?” Mandy snickered and reached for her computer mouse. “I loved that one. I have the gif on my hard drive.”

“I don’t need to see it.”

“I do.” She opened the hard drive and scrolled down the list.

Sonny put his hand over hers.

Mandy’s breath stopped in her throat. God, she had forgotten how electric that felt. In high school, Sonny had been everything she wasn’t. Popular, confident, easy going, calm. Endlessly sexy. Only two girls in their class hadn’t had crushes on him. Of the two, one knew even then she was a lesbian. The other one figured it out later.

“Please don’t play that gif.”

Mandy jerked her hand away from his successfully yanking the mouse onto the floor. She bent over to grab it, but Sonny beat her to it. He’d crouched and reached around her. Bad luck had made him flexible and quicker to react. Any other player plagued by the accidents he’d had wouldn’t have a career at all, let alone be a star player.

He stayed in the crouch as he handed her the mouse, staring up at her with his breathtaking hazel eyes. “I missed you, Mandy.”

“If this is part of you trying to get me to forgive you—” The scent wafting off him was not Irish Springs. It was spicy and hot, and very welcome.

“It’s not.” He put his hands on her knees and Mandy cursed the impulse that had her in a skirt today. His long fingers traced under her hem. “I missed you. You were special.”

“You know what they say about your first.”

“You weren’t my first.”

Mandy bit her lip. He was hers and saying that nobody else measured up was an understatement. Even at seventeen he’d been gentle and generous during sex.

Not so generous in the school hallway though.

“I never should have let you get away.” He skimmed his thumb to the inside of her knee.

“Why? Did you fail chemistry in college?” Her breath was getting short and she couldn’t stop it. The sensation of his thumb between her knees spiraled heat through her body. She could remember the way the leather seats in the back of his father’s car had felt on her bare ass and the texture of his football jersey clutched in her hands.

“You can’t hate me that much.”

“You’d be surprised.”

He slid his hand under her skirt. “Then let me make it up to you.”

“It’s going to take a lot.”

His hand slipped higher on her thigh. She could see the movement of his fingers under her the fabric of her skirt and she swallowed.

Monday, 16 February 2015

Hi friends. As you may know, I've been hard at work on the next installment of the Gemini Island Shifters series.

With a working title of Predator's Trinity, I hope to bring Percy and Byron Moon's story to light soon. The boys are struggling, with the rest of the Ursa Lodge cast, in a quest to rid themselves of the menace that is cult leader August Crane. To make things trickier, the Moon twins are falling for the same woman, a human librarian named Suzan Marsh. Percy and Byron have always dreamed of sharing a woman, but menages have not worked for them in the past.

Oh, and there's another wee problem. Villain August Crane wants her too.

Here's a sneek peak at the book. I hope you enjoy this unedited snippet.

Predator's Trinity:

She reached for the fallen book and clutched
it to her chest like a shield. “How did you get in? The door’s locked.”

“I can be resourceful.”

Okay,
Suzi, don’t freak out. She mustered up her best authoritative librarian
voice. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave, August.”

His pale eyes glimmered and his smile
widened. In the shadows of evening, his features seemed longer, more canine. In
fact, she could swear there was a distinct point to his teeth.

“Sure, Suzan. I’ll go. Only you’re coming
with me.”

With those words, two more men appeared
behind him. Big men. Men whose unfeeling laughter echoed in library, sounding
an awful lot like growls.

“When I asked you to dinner, I thought I
was being nice. I’ll be honest with you. I’m not really a take a woman to dinner kind of guy. I prefer to get straight to the
point. So let me make this clear. I want you and I’m going to have you. I have
plans, you see, and you’re going to help me fulfill them.” August approached
with a casual air but stopped short a few feet in front of her. His keen gaze
pinned her to his spot and his nostrils inflated, as if he breathed her in.
When he exhaled through his mouth, the breath came out on a shaky exhalation.
He swallowed. “Your fear. It’s delicious. Intoxicating.”

She forced her feet into action and took
two steps back. “Please.”

He tilted his head as if regarding a
stubborn child. “Now, Suzan, we can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

The wall to his emotions finally tumbled
and evil thoughts swarmed toward her, engulfing her in dread and darkness. As
she gaped at him, all she saw was hatred and more hatred. Sinister intent and a
love of inflicting pain. Blackness and bile and emptiness. Giving into panic,
Suzan threw Love In Chains at him and
ran, dashing into the stacks. Screaming for anyone who might hear, she tried to
find shelter in her beloved library, already comprehending the futility of her
response.

His cold voice boomed after her. “Awesome.
I love the hard way.”

As she heard his heavy steps behind her, another
sound shattered the quiet of the space, one that struck her numb with terror.
Trembling, she tried hard to convince herself she hadn’t just heard the howl of
a wolf.

Friday, 6 February 2015

However, this week I checked the Goodreads page for my yet-to-be-released book The Stand-In (releases Feb. 9) and found a 1-star rating.

Now, I did offer ARC copies to a couple of trusted bloggers who have kindly written thoughtful reviews. I know for a fact who got those ARCs and this person did not. In my mind, this is clearly a case of Goodreads trolling.

I posted a couple of thoughts on Facebook and was met with tremendous support from the reader/author/blogger community.
I sent an email to Goodreads and was told they could do nothing. However, they said they had contacted the reviewer to see if he/she had posted the rating "in error." Of course, this is not the case. And now I sit, wondering if this reader will retaliate in some way.

Now don't get me wrong. Goodreads has been a helpful community in many ways. They have always answered my questions and helped me display my books. The readers I've met there have become devoted supporters and friends.

And then there are the other folks. The ones who really enjoy messing with an author's head.

I'm not saying a person can't give me a legitimate bad rating. If you don't like my book, you don't like my book. But when it's obvious a "reader" has based a rating or review on a blurb of an unreleased story, we have a problem.

In response to my Facebook posts, several fine authors told me they have deleted their author profiles at Goodreads. That they are happier without a presence there. I confess, I am tempted to do the same. It would sadden me because I love maintaining contact with my readers.

However, I cannot afford to use more expensive options like Netgalley and I don't have time to look into numerous other promotional venues. Will I leave Goodreads as an author? I'm still not sure, but my finger is hovering over the "cancel" button.

If this were a case of bullying in a school, the bully would be reprimanded. For some reason, on Goodreads, bullies are tolerated. We, as authors, are told to "develop a thick skin." Believe me. I've written close to 20 books. My skin is fine as it is. It's as thick as it will ever be. I have developed myself to the best of my ability.